One Hundred Nights At The Cinema: Nos. 100 - 81
Dec 04 '02 (Updated Jan 27 '03)
The Bottom Line This could be the start of something big. Or a big bust. Either way, I'm having fun...
To celebrate my 100th review at Epinions.com, I thought I'd take on a project that I'd been thinking about for awhile: A list of my top 100 favourite movies of all time. Now, I know what you must be thinking: Didn't Simply_Crispy just do one such list? Yes he did, smartguy. But here I paraphrase T.S. Eliot: "Immature reviewers imitate; mature reviewers steal from Brits with hobbled legs". Or something like that. Anyway, there are a couple of things that make my list different from Crisp's (which, in the interest of solidarity and because I think it's a stellar piece of work, I'll give a plug to: http://www.epinions.com/content_2669977732):
1. It's my list, and my movies. I've been tinkering with the order for ages, and now that I seem to have gotten it right, I figured why not let you all in on the secret. You're welcome.
2. I'm not going to publish it all in one shot, but in five installments, 20 movies at a time. There are two reasons for this. First, after I got about ten capsule-reviews in, I realized that once I finished the darned thing it was going to be enormous. It might have topped 15,000 words, if I kept at my current pace, which is akin to about 40 pages of an average-sized novel. I just couldn't do that to you people. So instead, I figured I'd publish one partial-list every two weeks or so, aiming the final 20 to be published on my birthday, which comes at the end of January. A fitting present to myself, I think. The second reason why I'm not publishing all 100 films at once, and this is the more important reason, is that I wasn't finished by the 100th review deadline. Laziness and procrastination were once again my undoing, limiting me to what you see below. So that's all you get. For now. I promise, more is coming.
So, how was this list generated? Gut instinct. There are no hard and fast reasons why film A should be ahead of film B. The only bit of criteria I used, when deciding if A should be ahead of B, was this question: "Which film would you rather watch ten times in a row, right now?" Tres scientifique, no? I was going to try and spread the list out over different eras, to ensure that it didn't turn into a "Top 90 Movies of the Nineties, and Ten From Other Decades That I Don't Loathe Too Much", but I didn't. As it stands, just over half of the films are from the nineties or later, with a surprising (to me, at least) 20 that were released before 1970. If you want to suggest an older film that I haven't listed, feel free. I'm still working my way through a whole list of films that were released before I was born, so I'll just thank you and add it to the pile.
For each capsule, most of the time I offer up a mini-plot summary, and analysis of why I love the film in question. But on several occasions, such as when I got bored with the whole summary/analysis template, I decided I'd give a quick glimpse, an anecdote, of my film-going experience. What obstacles did I have to overcome to see said film? What amusing stories did the trip give me to tell? Sometimes the experience colours the perception of the film (as you shall see right off the bat with #100), and I wanted to document this phenomenon. I've also included, when appropriate, a link to my already published full review. If you can't get enough of my blathering then this feature is for you.
And finally, I know -- especially in conjunction with Crispy's list -- that there are some people out there who will rate this review Off Topic, because, well, it technically isn't a list of "The 10 Best Movies Ever", as the category title states. I know the arguments for and against this point. And frankly, I'm going to ignore them. This is my project, this is my passion. I'm going to write what I will, you will rate what you will. Deal? Good.
Okay, enough babbling. On with the list…
100. Rosemary's Baby
directed by Roman Polanski, 1968
I saw "Rosemary's Baby" for the first time at a rep theatre this past summer. The theatre was sparsely filled. Most notorious amongst the patrons was the bearded man sitting in front of me, a few seats to the left, guarding what looked like 8 or 9 bags of candy. Candy wrapped in the kind of plastic that crinkles and wrinkles and annoys those around you when you open it. I know this, because Senior Beardo opened a couple of dozen or so during the film's first two acts. Instead of saying something, I silently seethed.
Somewhere around the scene where Rosemary gets into the phone booth to call Hutch, the Bearded Freak stands up, turns around to face me, and yells, "WOULD YOU PLEASE STOP SHAKING MY SEAT! PLEASE! STOP IT! STOP IT NOW!". I must have been anxiously shaking my leg, which was, in fact, resting on the first armrest in his row. Embarrassed, I slinkered down in my seat again, and tried to enjoy the rest of the movie. Surprisingly, the anxiety I now felt coursing through my veins (I hated that asshole for yelling at me) actually improved the horror in the film. I was on edge, and loving every minute of it.
http://www.epinions.com/content_71519342212
99. Raiders of the Lost Ark
directed by Steven Spielberg, 1981
These days Steven Spielberg is too important and too powerful and too caught up in turning popcorn movies into "important" cinema. But back in 1981, when he and George Lucas (another 800-pound gorilla of a director too surrounded by Yes-Men to ever make another decent film again) were passionate and energized by the Saturday afternoon B-movies that peppered their childhood, "Raiders of the Lost Ark" was a no-brainer.
Spielberg's technique is all over this one, both in the way he shoots a scene and the way he tells a story. And because he hitched his wagon to the charismatic Harrison Ford -- who once upon a time was actually able to show on film that he had a sense of humour -- "Raiders" rolls and tumbles through its combustible plot as easy as a giant boulder crashing through cobwebs.
98. Casablanca
directed by Michael Curtiz, 1942
You want to know why "Casablanca" doesn't have a higher space on my list? Well, I adore Humphrey Bogart's take on the selfish anti-hero, who can't help but get caught up the destructive politics of the day. And I truly dig Claude Rains' police inspector, as quick with a dry quip as he is with a knowing glance. And the creepy Peter Lorre is as slick and oily here as he has ever been, utilizing his distinctive voice and bulging eyes to great effect (Lorre is almost amphibian, fer goodsness sakes).
The plotting is tight, the writing is sharp, the humour is abundant (surprisingly abundant). The ending is as emotional and sensible and effective as you've heard. The direction is spot-on, the editing is precise, and the whole thing is imbued with a sense of style.
So what's the major flaw (if you've been paying attention, you would have figured it out by now)? I just can't understand what Rick sees in Ilsa because I have never been drawn to Ingrid Bergman's charms. She's a rather dull bulb, if you ask me. Why would Rick risk his carefully constructed world for a woman this banal. Anyway, that's my opinion of her; I'm sure someone out there will tell me I'm wrong.
97. A Hard Day's Night
directed by Richard Lester, 1964
On the one hand, you've got to admire what Richard Lester has done with this cheapie promotional pic, intended as nothing more than a quick cash grab amidst the heights of Beatlemania back in 1964. It's cinema verite at its finest, utilizing a kinetic fly-on-the-wall style (and yes, I do mean STYLE) to capture the combustible energy that threatened to swallow the Beatles or shoot them into the stratosphere (the latter, as we all found out, held true).
On the other hand, "A Hard Day's Night" paved the way for music video and it's evil offspring MTV (in Canada we have MuchMusic, which is not much better), and a prolonged era where aesthetic beauty takes precedence over talent in the music industry.
Still, the quasi-Marx Brothers shenanigans and some true emotion (Ringo walking alone through the park is a fine example), and, oh yeah, the music(!) makes this one loom large in their legend.
96. Shallow Grave
directed by Danny Boyle, 1994
He may have followed it up with the generation-defining and box-office-record-breaking mega-smash "Trainspotting", but to me "Shallow Grave" will always be Danny Boyle's masterwork. A delicious meditation on Hitchcockian themes, it's the story of three roommates looking for a fourth to rent the extra bedroom in their flat. When a dead body and then a suitcase full of money are found, those old standby themes (jealousy, greed, lust, insanity; all the greats) rear their ugly heads, and crack open the skulls of the principles.
This was the first time I'd ever seen Ewan McGregor on film, and his turn as a shaggy reporter marked him for stardom in my eyes. Now whether or not that's really true, or just the product of some convenient revisionist history, I'll never tell until I'm in my own shallow grave.
95. The Producers
directed by Mel Brooks, 1968
"The Producers" has (at least) two things going for it. First, Mel Brooks' script, which justifiably won 1969's Oscar for Best Original Screenplay. It's rife with classy and corny jokes ("I am the author. You are the audience. I outrank you!"), an iconoclastic sense of morality (the play-within-the-film, titled 'Springtime for Hitler', could not tackle more taboos), and a genius high-concept (in order to make money, the producers must produce a whomping stinker of a play; I'll let you find out how, by watching the film).
The second thing it has going for it is Gene Wilder. Long one of my comedy giants, Wilder gets by mostly on playing the reality of a seriously absurd situation. He is the freaked-out Everyman here, a buttoned-down accountant called in by a shady producer (the gorgeously over-the-top Zero Mostel) to help cook the books. These two make an unlikely but very satisfying comedy team.
94. The Truman Show
directed by Peter Weir, 1998
Do you remember the hype surrounding this flick, before its release back in '98? I do. I have never read such universally glowing reviews. Months in advance, Peter Travers, Roger Ebert, Gene Shalit, et al. (okay, not the most credible chorus) were all singing its praises. I even seem to remember Pauline Kael piping up from the comforts of retirement to praise it. All this made me giddy with anticipation to see Peter Weir's satire on television and popular culture and the deconstruction of the self (also, I hadn't yet developed any loathing towards Jim Carrey, so it had that going for it too).
Sadly, even "Citizen Kane" would have been crushed under the weight of that hype. I came out of the theatre feeling very lukewarm about "The Truman Show". Even after seeing it again on TV last year, and loving it dearly, I still can't help but think it was ruined by the acclaim.
http://www.epinions.com/content_69567352452
93. The Man Who Wasn't There
directed by Joel Coen, 2001
Any time I try to formulate my list of all-time favourite filmmakers, Joel and Ethan Coen are right there near, or at, the top. "The Man Who Wasn't There", is their fifth or sixth (depending on how you classify "Barton Fink") attempt to deconstruct the film noir genre. It's lushly photographed in black and white (God bless you, Roger Deakins), features stellar performances by Frances McDormand, Tony Shalhoub, James Gandolfini, and the best work of Billy Bob Thornton's career, and is rife with Coen-style oddities (UFOs, barber shops, and dry cleaning as plot devices).
http://www.epinions.com/content_67128233604
92. North by Northwest
directed by Alfred Hitchcock, 1959
From the get-go, "NXNW" had me in its clutches: Cary Grant (always a good sign when good ol' Mr. Leach is along for the ride) stands up in a crowded restaurant, and inadvertently identifies himself to a couple of thugs in the employ of James Mason. A twisting and turning plot goes from crop-dusting shenanigans in a wheat field, to a climactic chase across the faces of Mt. Rushmore, with some time set aside for some nice flirting with the fetching Eva Marie Saint.
Alfred Hitchcock's more meditative films ("Vertigo", "Rear Window", the middle and end of "Psycho") usually bore me silly. But "Northwest" is a delight, an Ernest Lehman-penned rollercoaster that never lets up and never lets you down.
91. Mulholland Drive
directed by David Lynch, 2001
I wasn't going to bother with "Mulholland Drive", despite the overwhelming support for David Lynch's latest opus from the critical community. I couldn't make it anywhere near the end of "The Elephant Man". "Dune" had me on the floor in stitches (not a good sign when said film is a dramatic space opera). "Blue Velvet" left me shaking my head in confusion. Even "The Straight Story", Lynch's most accessible flick to date, had come this close to boring me silly.
But I relented, and saw "Mulholland Drive". Despite its anti-narrative structure, its near-fatal obsession with Hollywood and the wicked games the people Out There play, and the nonsense, and the lesbianism (oh wait! I actually liked the lesbianism), the darn thing stuck in my craw and had me pondering its meaning day and night for weeks. The Club Silencio scene was probably the most viscerally exciting scene I saw at the movies all year, Naomi Watts (mmm!) is a star in the making, and the film had the nerve to cast Robert Forster and Dan Hedaya, two wonderful character actors, and give them a grand total of two lines! Kudos to Lynch for his oodles of gumption.
90. Office Space
directed by Mike Judge, 1999
"Office Space" surprised the heck out of me when I first saw it in theatres. Mike Judge's previous efforts failed to tickle my fancy (the charms of "Beavis and Butthead" always failed to make themselves known, and I had yet to realize how glorious "King of the Hill" could be). So why should this purveyor of puerility score with his first live action film? Because he's a deft observer, that's why.
"Office Space" pokes many a hole in the bloated balloon that is the corporate workplace. From the sensitivity-trained-to-the-point-of-desensitized CEO (a delightfully reptilian Gary Cole), to the in-house paranoia, from the perils of the morning commute, to a subplot that examines the temptation to steal from the company, "Office Space" hits all its marks. Hard. Most notable is a ridiculous little scene in a field, where three office drones (under a score of hardcore gangster rap) take their frustrations out, slo-mo style, on a demonic fax machine. Priceless cinema.
89. Slums of Beverly Hills
directed by Tamara Jenkins, 1998
When I think of "Slums", I tend to think of specific moments that define its oddball nature: Natasha Lyonne wearing her brand new bra over her overalls; David Krumholtz, dressed only in ratty white briefs, singing "Lucky Be A Lady" like he were Marlon Brando; Marisa Tomei, dressed only in her slinky underthings, dancing with an enormous vibrator like she were Johnny "Wad" Holmes; the whole family packing up in the middle of the night, moving from one low-rent apartment to the next; Alan Arkin, stabbing a restaurant employee in the leg with a fork, in an attempt to foil a steak-stealing scam; then later, in a rather tender moment, comforting Tomei and himself.
I've said it before, but I still don't get why "Slums", armed with such classic moments, isn't a classic itself. Boggles the mind.
http://www.epinions.com/content_79305674372
88. Desperado
directed by Robert Rodriguez, 1995
I've never seen "El Mariachi", director Robert Rodriguez' notorious first film effort (he submitted himself to a battery of medical tests in order to raise the $7,000 shooting budget), so I can't judge the faithfulness of this "remake". But I have seen Salma Hayek's grand entrance into American cinema -- she walks across a small-town intersection, as three (!) cars crash behind her, apparently blinded by her beauty -- and for that, I am eternally thankful to "Desperado".
Oh, and Antonio Banderas is pretty good here too. With his greasy long hair constantly threatening to get tangled in his six-shooters, Banderas exhibits a level of dangerous cool that he has yet to equal on screen. Cameos by Tarantino regulars Steve Buscemi, as a rat-faced sh*t-disturber, and Tarantino himself as a joke-telling soon-to-be-corpse, as well as Rodriguez regular Cheech Marin, help add some comic relief to this tale of violent revenge and mariachi music.
87. Paths of Glory
directed by Stanley Kubrick, 1957
I'm not a fan of Stanley Kubrick's longer, more boring and self-important efforts ("A Clockwork Orange" springs right to mind). But I do get a kick out of the artistic and economical "Paths of Glory", Kubrick's first real important success as a director.
Essentially the before- and aftermath story of an army court-martial, "Glory" stars walking chin-dimple Kirk Douglas as Colonel Dax, a former lawyer and current leader of a band of men sent to take an impossible hill. Kubrick gets to dolly through a snake-like trench and around a luxurious army office, play with streaming light in the court-martial scene, and work through the darkened candle-lit nights before the raid. His style is ever-present, but so is his eye for social issues, as those men on trial for cowardice must face the realization that despite the promise of glory, they are just pawns in the army's grand game.
http://www.epinions.com/content_71226789508
86. Dead Man Walking
directed by Tim Robbins, 1995
"Dead Man Walking" is a wonderful dance with death, as two actors at the top of their game duel it out while the clock on one slowly winds down. Susan Sarandon won a much-deserved Oscar for her portrayal of a nun come to council a murderer on death row. But it is Sean Penn's performance that always knocks me out. His outer appearance would seem to indicate that it was a performance of pure style (the pompadour, the tattoos, the prehensile soul patch). But Penn mines much sadness and soulfulness from this seemingly monstrous man.
Despite the pitch-perfect acting and the stylish but not overbearing direction, "Dead Man Walking" does stumble. It hypes itself as an even-keel take on the issue of the death penalty. Director Tim Robbins has claimed over and over that his film doesn't take sides. Horse Hockey (as Col. Potter might say)! Robbins is staunchly anti-death penalty. His bleeding-heart moistens every frame of film. I'm not criticizing his politics, per se. I'm just criticizing his insistence that said politics are nowhere to be seen, when in fact, they're all over the film.
85. O Brother, Where Art Thou?
directed by Joel Coen, 2000
"O Brother" is the Coen's second film on this list, so far, and it falls into the same category as "The Man Who Wasn't There". It's a genre deconstruction, existing for no other reason than to allow the boys a chance to filter Homer's "Odyssey" through the prism of the dust bowl journey pic.
George Clooney has never been more comic than in his role as Ulysses Everett McGill, a Clark Gable-looking Pomade-using walking dictionary of a man. He's ably backed up -- both in the acting scenes and the singing scenes -- by Tim Blake Nelson and John Turturro, as well as Coen stalwarts John Goodman, Michael Badalucco, and Holly Hunter.
But it's the music that really puts this flick over the top. "Man of Constant Sorrow" was rightfully a crossover hit, dragging the soundtrack album along with it, to give the masses a fine example of "old timey" music. "O Brother", despite its lack of intellect and thematic purpose, is really a true delight.
84. Groundhog Day
directed by Harold Ramis, 1993
I can't imagine a worse fate than being stuck in an onscreen threesome between acting void Andie MacDowell and humour vacuum Chris Elliott. But that is what befalls Bill Murray in this craftily made Harold Ramis comedy. And you know what? Beautiful Bill delivers probably his most commanding performance, ringing equal parts comedy and pathos (okay, more comedy than pathos) from a character stuck in some sadistic time-continuum eternal loop, where ever day is Groundhog Day in Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania.
Murray, the king of disaffected smarm, gets to play both wiseguy smartmouth, and the desperate underbelly his overconfidence inevitably hides. His scenes with MacDowell, while hampered by her lack of warmth or realism, still come off as touching and believable. And any film morbid enough to have an extended attempted suicide montage is tops in my book.
83. Your Friends & Neighbors
directed by Neil LaBute, 1998
Neil LaBute's Misanthropalooza, Part I
Jason Patric's "Timmy" speech is probably the most sick and twisted monologue I've ever seen on film.
And it's not even Patric's most sick and twisted moment in this film. That honour goes to (one of): the punting the plastic fetus scene; the yelling through the bathroom door at the woman who menstruated on his 320 thread-count bed sheets scene; or the intimidating Catherine Keener in the used book store scene.
And Patric's most sick and twisted moments are not even the most sick and twisted moments in the film overall. That honour belongs to (one of): Ben Stiller doing some creepy dirty talk with Catherine Keener in bed; or, Aaron Eckhart masturbating while his wife sleeps peacefully beside him (he claims that the best sex he's ever had was with himself).
And remember: sick and twisted, especially on celluloid, is a good thing. Especially in the hands of LaBute.
http://www.epinions.com/content_81215655556
82. In the Company of Men
directed by Neil LaBute, 1997
Neil LaBute's Misanthropalooza, Part II
Toxic Chad and tedious Howard, two corporate drones angered by their treatment at the hands of women, take out their frustrations on deaf Christine. It's a concept so simple, yet so devious, that it can't help but work. Add to the mix the fact that writer/director Neil LaBute (making his second consecutive appearance on this list, a feat that you'll have to wait until the mid-twenties to see duplicated) is a voracious scenarist, intent on scrubbing the depths of humanity (or, more accurately, 'man'kind) until all the paint has worn off. He then shows you the unadorned soul. And good golly is it ugly.
Aaron Eckhart, as Chad, turns in what should have been a star-making performance (there's still time for Eckhart, yet, to get his name above the title). He's consistently watchable, oozing charisma, and completely dangerous. Eckhart runs down every innocent bystander in his path, until, seemingly, the whole world is his.
81. Il Buono, il brutto, il cattivo, a.k.a. The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly
directed by Sergio Leone, 1966
Clint Eastwood is rock solid and mysterious as "The Good", a renegade cowboy in trademark poncho and hand-rolled cigar. Lee Van Cleef is chilling as "The Bad", an evil Union officer with reptilian eyes and a Snidely Whiplash moustache. But it is Eli Wallach, as "The Ugly", who steals the show. He plays Tuco Benedicto Pacifico Juan Maria Ramirez, a huckster scamp in a sombrero, looking for redemption (both the literal and metaphysical kind).
Actually, I might be more accurate saying that it is Sergio Leone, in the final installment of his Spaghetti Western/Man With No Name Trilogy, who is the real star of the show, directing with a flair for stunning visuals, and an ear for the dramatic. On second (third?) thought, and speaking of ears, maybe Ennio Morricone should be the most praised, for his innovative score (complete with the archetypal Western theme).
Ah, who cares who gets the credit? "The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly" is great. 'Nuff said.
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[In the next installment: A hawk, a shark, a tiger, and a dragon. Oh, and two from Mike Newell!]
Nos. 80 - 61: http://www.epinions.com/content_3007160452
Nos. 60 - 41: http://www.epinions.com/content_3034226820
Nos. 40 - 21: http://www.epinions.com/content_3058999428
Nos. 20 - 1: http://www.epinions.com/content_3078004868
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mfunk75
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Member: Mike Stone
Location: Toronto, Ontario, Canada
Reviews written: 218
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